


Ever After

by wefellasangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Team Free Will, everyone dies, just FYI, mental health cw, murder cw, substance usage and abuse cw, suicide cw, violence cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:58:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wefellasangels/pseuds/wefellasangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the years pass, Castiel's and Dean's toxic relationship slowly but surely ends up destroying both their lives and those of the people they love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> based on a post made by @swiftliness on tumblr

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Dean throws a chair at the nearby wall and it shatters.

“Dean, I’m sorry!” Castiel yells. “She was possessed: there was nothing else I could have done!”

“How about exorcise her!” Dean shouts. “Huh? Or were you so caught up in the moment that you forgot that that’s what we do? You know, _saving_ people? Not smiting them just ‘cause a demon decided to take them for a joy ride!”

Castiel narrows his eyes and takes a step forward, his voice deadly quiet and remorseless. “She wasn’t going to make it anyway, Dean. Lisa…she was beyond saving and she was going to die. You didn’t have the _strength_ to put her out of her misery. So I did.”

Dean stares at Castiel, his eyes hard and void of any hope for forgiveness. He turns away from the angel and then suddenly turns back, launching his fist into Castiel’s face.

Castiel stumbles back, his vessel left with a broken nose.

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Dean spits out.

…

SIX YEARS AGO

Dean finally finishes unpacking and heads to the living room. Castiel sits on the floor, back against the couch as he watches television. Dean ruffles the angel’s hair as he flops down on the couch.

“We should go out to eat tonight,” Dean suggests.

Castiel sighs. “No…I’d prefer not to.”

“Why not? I thought you liked going out.”

“Not anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Since you moved out last time,” Castiel states curtly. Dean stays quiet, thinking back over the past two years. Five breaks-ups. And each time, Castiel was the one to leave, vanishing into thin air. Except for the last time. Their fights had been getting progressively worse, but last time…

_Castiel had Dean pinned against the wall, one arm fixed across his neck so Dean could hardly breathe._

_Their faces only inches apart, Dean could hear Castiel cursing at him in Enochian under his breath; and even though he couldn’t understand a single word, he could feel the hate and anger behind each uttered syllable. The panic in his gut elevated even higher as Castiel’s eyes begin to glow, solid blue turning into pure white light. Almost instinctively, Dean began reciting the exorcism:_

_“Omni potentis Dei potestatem invoco, omni potentis Dei potestatem invoco, abrogo terra…”_

_In repulsion, Castiel stepped back, letting him go. Gasping for air, Dean stopped the incantation, Castiel no longer in danger of being expelled from his vessel._

The last thing Dean remembers is driving off in the Impala with a black eye and broken arm. The sad part is that Dean can’t remember how that fight even started – how any of their fights started for that matter. He just knows that each time, they get closer and closer to killing each other.  

Dean clears his throat. “I, uh, guess we’ll stay in tonight, then.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. He just continues watching the television.

…

THREE YEARS AGO

Sam hears three knocks on the front door. He takes another bite of his burger before standing up from the table and wiping his hands on his jeans.

When he opens the door, he sees his big brother standing there, eyes red-rimmed.

“Dean?”

“Heya, Sammy…mind if I come in?”

“No, ‘course not.” Sam steps to the side and lets him in, closing the door behind them. The two head for the kitchen, taking their seats at the table.

“Kind of late for a visit, Dean,” Sam comments, looking at his watch. It was almost midnight.

Dean eyes the food in front of Sam and smirks. “Didn’t mean to wake you up, or anything.”

Sam smiles. “I got hungry, okay?” he defends. He picks up his burger and takes another bite. “You want one?”

The smirk fades from Dean’s face. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Sam stares at his brother for a moment, worried. “You okay, Dean?”

Dean sighs. “No. Not really.”

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just, um…me and Cas. Not doing so great, you know?”

Sam puts his food down and pushes the plate to the side. “What’s going on?”

Eleven fights over eight years. Six of which have resulted in at least one of them spending some time in the hospital. Four of which have ended with one, or both of them, trying to kill the other. For the past seven months, Castiel has refused to leave his apartment. No one except his brother, Gabriel, has been able to see or talk to him. For the same length on time, Dean has been on a regiment of medications, including pills for depression and sleep. Dean tells his brother all of this – including the incident with Lisa.

Sam doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just glares at a fixed point on the kitchen table, processing everything Dean has told him. Finally:

“Cas killed Lisa?”

“Yeah.”

“And, uh…” Sam forces himself to say it out loud. “He tried to kill you too?”

Dean nods. “Yeah…a few times now.”

Sam exhales sharply through his nostrils, nodding to himself. Then he stands up suddenly.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

Surprised, Dean furrows his brow. “Where are we going?”

“To see Cas.”

“What – why? _Now_?”

“Yeah – get your keys.”

…

A three-hour-long trip takes an hour and a half with Sam behind the wheel. They pull up in front of Castiel’s apartment building and the brothers get out of the Impala.

“Which apartment is he in?” Sam demands.

“31-B,” Dean answers.

Sam begins walking to the building, then realizes Dean isn’t with him. He turns around and sees his brother leaning against the car.

“You coming or what?”

“No…I’m good,” Dean says flatly.

Sam nods in understanding and continues forward.

Nine minutes later and three floors up, Sam knocks on the door and waits. No one answers, but he can hear the television. Impatient, he picks the lock and lets himself in. He closes the door behind him and walks around.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel greets when Sam enters the living room. “It’s…been awhile.” Castiel sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch as he watches the TV.

“Yeah, it has been,” Sam agrees stiffly. He grabs the remote from an end table and clicks the ‘Off’ button. “We need to talk, Cas.”

The angel stands up and sighs. “What about?”

“About everything!” Sam snaps. “About all the crap between you and Dean! About trying to kill my big brother! About _Lisa_!”

“This has nothing to do with you, Sam!” Castiel retorts, a sudden anger flaring inside of him.

“Damn straight this has something to with me! You were my friend, Cas – and I _trusted_ you!”

“Trusted me to do _what_ exactly, Sam?”

“To take care of my brother! To just… _be_ a decent person!”

Castiel smirks, a threatening expression on his face as he takes a step closer to Sam. “I don’t… _owe_ you anything.”

Sam glares at the angel, disappointed…but mostly sad. Whatever happened back then had broken Castiel. The guilt. The regret. Whatever it was, Castiel hadn’t been able to handle it – and it broke him.

Sam finally breaks eye contact and Castiel walks away, turning his back. Sam seizes the opportunity, reaching into his jacket to pull out the angel blade. Less than two seconds later, the blade is lodged in Castiel’s back and there is an explosion of white light.

…

From the car, Dean sees a sudden burst of light coming from an apartment on the third floor. His eyes widen, realizing what’s happened; realizing what Sam has done. His eyes sting and his vision goes cloudy with tears. Less than a minute later, Sam emerges from the building. Dean watches as his bother approaches, stone-faced, and walks over to the driver’s side of the car.

They both get in and Sam starts driving them back home. Dean knows there should be anger. He knows he should ask Sam to pull the car over, throw him a couple of punches and a few choice words, and then drive off, leaving Sam on the side of the road. But he can’t. Instead he lets his little brother drive and just breathes out in quiet relief.

“Finally.”

…

THIS YEAR

Sam keeps the medication locked up in his room.

It’s been three years since he killed Castiel, and two years and nine months since his brother moved in with him. Since the incident, Dean has refused to take his medications, so Sam keeps them secure as he watches the guilt drown his brother deeper and deeper each day.

Every so often, Sam will ask Dean if he’s angry with him. Dean will look at his baby brother, eyes wide with confusion.

“I’m not mad, Sammy,” he’ll say. “Hell, I know I should be…but I’m not. I’m _glad_ he’s gone.” And then he’ll walk out of the room.

These days, trying to get Dean to leave the house, eat regularly, or do anything for that matter, is near impossible. Dean has even stopped listening to his music.

So, witnessing this firsthand, it really shouldn’t surprise Sam when he walks into his bedroom to find his brother lying on the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, with an empty pill bottle in his right hand.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam rushes over to his brother’s side. “No…no, no, no, not again…Dean!”

Last night’s brief dinner conversation echoes once more in Sam’s mind.

_Dean stares at his plate, picking at his food contemplatively._

_“You should eat something,” Sam prompts as usual. He expects Dean to take a single bite and then spend the rest of the meal staring at his plate some more. But tonight, he speaks._

_“You know, sometimes I wish…”_

_Sam looks up, surprised – and pleased – at Dean’s attempt at conversation._

_“What do you wish?” Sam encourages._

_“That I could just apologize to him, you know?”_

_“For what, Dean? You didn’t do anything wrong. You know that.”_

_“Yeah…guess you’re right,” Dean concedes. “I dunno. I just…want him to know I’m sorry. Give us both some peace or something.”_

_And he gets up to leave the table._

The tears come and they don’t stop. Sam knows that he already lost Dean a long time ago. But now…Dean was gone every way possible.

…

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS FROM NOW

Sam lies in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. He’s been here a few weeks at least, hooked up to too many machines that all make too much noise. The doctors are trying to save him, but Sam knows he’s finally lost the battle. All he can do now is just remember how he got here.  

Sam remembers how it started with only a few drinks a night. As the years passed, the packs increased in number; the bottles became bigger; and the alcohol concentration got higher. Now, the drink has become more medication than poison – daily doses of alcohol is one of the only things keeping him alive in this hospital.

Sam remembers the initial sadness…the overwhelming numbness. How he didn’t want to get up in the morning and was afraid to fall asleep at night. How crying himself to sleep made way for thenightmares to creep up on him, leaving him screaming his brother’s name in the middle of the night. There were times when he would pray for final peace and deliverance, and then curse God’s name and His will, all in the same breath.

It wasn’t long until the anger came, with hate and bloodlust in tow, breeding the need for vengeance, of any sort, in his brother’s name.

_“Sam, buddy…you don’t want to do this,” Gabriel says, trying to hide his apprehension under his cool façade._

_Sam tightens his grip on the angel blade and smirks. “Actually, I really do. See…this is payback.”_

_“For what? I helped you and your brother defeat Lucifer. Remember that? The whole ‘apocalypse’ shindig! Or are you so emotionally_ compromised _you forgot about that ‘little’ favor?”_

_“Oh, I remember that. And I also remember the time you killed Dean. Over and over and over again…for_ fun _.” Sam spits out the last word._

_The arrogance on the archangel’s face melts away and Sam is satisfied. He takes a step forward, advancing on the trapped angel._

_“S-Sam…” Gabriel stutters warily. “I can bring him back! I can bring Dean back, okay?”_

_Sam shakes his head, stepping over the ring of fire. “It’s too little, too late, Gabe. Whatever it is you’re gonna bring back, it’s not gonna be my brother. Not really.”_

_“Sam!”_

The angels had never really done them any good – they were all self-interested and self-serving. So Sam spent the years killing every single one he came across. In special cases, like Gaberiel’s, he would summon the angel directly to him… 

Sam coughs and his throat feels like it catching fire. Less than a minute later, a nurse comes in and Sam’s coughing fit escalates. Realizing that the situation is out of his hands, the nurse calls in the doctor, who is followed by several others. In semi-unconsciousness, Sam can sense the rushing about of bodies around him…people who were oh so determined to save him.

In his final moments, a small wave of regret washes over him. Remorse for how he spent so many years angry, full of hate, and ultimately corrupted, with nothing to show for it but an alcohol addiction and a bitter heart. But the wave passes and is replaced by a numbness…because Sam knows he’s been dead for a long time. All that’s left now is an empty shell and a broken past – and Sam couldn’t care less.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i...i'm so sorry


End file.
